A true story.


Once in time
in a quarry
by the site of
an ancient kiln stone
a boy alone
carrying a thief’s bag
In search of speckled
pheasant eggs

In a confusion
of mist and muggy mire
amongst drawn buddleia
And tangled briar
lost in the comfort
of a familiar place
turning in sight
of a ghostly face
rising from the veil
of mist and fog.

A cross engraved
a grave perhaps
where no grave had been
And where no hallowed
ground allowed
And yet here
in the maze of mist
it rises in a swirling haze
before scared eyes

Task deserted
eggs and legs
alight In full flight,
soaked by long grass,
the longer way to pass,
as far from the form
as path allowed.
and out to
the comfort of
the road.

Free and brave again
from the depth
of quarry wild.
pounding heart
of a poaching child.
With tale to tell
of ghostly grave
unseen before
but there for years
to honour an uncle
who died alone
in eighteen sixty six
while loading stone.

© Dave Kavanagh @ daithiocaomanaigh.com

2 thoughts on “Once

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